writing and a meme
Alright, so two posts in one day is a little excessive for my tastes, but I'm trying to keep up with this writing assignment of mine. Feel free to skip over if it's entirely uninteresting to you - I'll understand.
Step 1 - write character snippets. Um, I only did this for the girl who gets the eating disorder, writing about a few facets of her physical appearance in minute detail. (Type of jeans she wears, her hair, and her walk.) The main character, the person who's telling the story...I guess I want less of the focus to be on her, at least in appearance, because she's the eyes for the reader, wholly.
Step 2 - research. You've got to understand - I don't research. This isn't for any reason other than laziness, frankly. It's not that I think I always know enough to write about, it's just that, because I don't plan, I usually just sit down and write and hope it all works out. That means that, if there's ever anything I need specific details for, I tend to guess and/or glaze over them. I actually did research for this, and it helped because it gave me starting points for various snippets.
Step 3 - write. With no stopping, either. Just wrote without editing, so I have a really basic first draft. It's pretty much the length I want it to be - 800 words to be read aloud in five mintues? - but we'll see.
I'm posting this extremely rough, entirely unedited first draft here for posterity's sake, and also for your opinions, if you've got any. I'd really appreciate the feedback on this one. Especially if you have any personal experience in the area that you don't mind sharing with me, because, despite my research, this is a bit of a blind exercise for me. I'm still sort of feeling around things.
The first lunchtime Erin trades her homemade brownies for my celery, I don’t think anything of it. She flips her blonde curls off her shoulders and laughs a little ruefully when she tells me she’s trying to eat healthy. “Lose some of this, you know?” She pinches the skin at her stomach through her loose blouse and wrinkles her nose, and I throw a celery stick at her.
“Yeah, right. You lose those curves and I’ll force-feed you cake until you’re back where you should be. Too many stick insects in the world.”
Erin peels a green string off the celery with one messily-painted red fingernail. “Don’t worry, I’m just cutting back a little.” She grins at me and throws the brownies my way.
***
I hand Erin a take-away cup of coffee as I sit down next to her in English, first period, Monday morning. (It’s a cruel time for analysis.) “Oh, thanks,” she says, adamantly grateful, and I cast my eyes in her direction from where I’m slumped on my desk.
She has dark bags under her eyes, and I could be wrong, but it seems like her mess of curls is even more tangled and frazzled than usual. I’m about to ask about it, but then the teacher walks into the room. “Croissant in the bag,” I mumble to her, nudging the paper bag over with my foot.
She looks down as if she’s considering. “I think I’ll pass.”
***
“Hey, do you want to come out to dinner with James and me?” We’re sitting in my room, sprawled lazily across the floor as we flip through trashy magazines.
“Nah. I always feel like the third wheel when I’m with you two.”
I twist awkwardly to kick her. “Such bullshit,” I say, grinning. “We’re just friends and you know it. And we’re going to that really good Japanese place, you know, the one where we went for Katie’s birthday last year.”
“Yeah, I remember. I’ll let you kids have your fun, though.” She looks down at the magazine and flips another page without reading.
I stop and sit up a little. She’s staring intently at the magazine now, a page on celebrity diets and effective body toning. “Dude, you love Japanese food! What, do you suddenly have something better going on?”
“I always have something better going on,” Erin says, sticking her tongue out at me, and all I can do is the same as I watch her tear the page out of the magazine, adding it to a pile of similar pages at her elbow.
***
Sometime mid-term it became a lunchtime ritual to ask Erin how many calories are in each of our lunches. “It’s kind of scary how good you are at that,” Katie says, giving Erin an appraising look, like calorie-counting is a skill she wishes she possessed. I watch Katie pick at her creamy pasta while she watches Erin spear a piece of lettuce from her small container of salad.
“What kind of dressing’s on that?” I ask Erin, hoping it sounds innocent enough.
Erin looks uncomfortable for a second, but then flashes a quick smile. “No dressing. It makes the salad get all soggy and gross.”
“I hear that,” Meghan puts in, picking at her own large container of soggy salad.
“How many calories in a balsamic dressing?” Katie asks, and Meghan glares at her half-heartedly.
“Around 90,” Erin responds immediately.
Katie’s right; it is scary how she can recall numbers like that.
***
Once or twice I feel like suggesting a new drinking game to the group - every time Erin says “Oh no, I had a big lunch” or “I’m just not hungry today,” everyone takes a shot. Except I don’t want Erin drinking on an empty stomach.
***
Erin changes into a little black dress before we go out to a party one Saturday, and I’m counting her ribs before I even realize what I’m doing. “Geez louise, you are getting skinny.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it, still staring at her back, the bones visible underneath her normally-tan skin. She seems almost translucent in this evening light, fragile.
If I wasn’t watching so closely, I might not notice how she stiffens a little at that, muscles suddenly taut. She lets out a gravelly chuckle and slides the dress on over her head. “Thanks,” she says finally, turning around to face me, and I don’t bother telling her it wasn’t meant to be a compliment.
***
I haven’t been in to see Erin’s room at the hospital yet, so I’m leaving all the cards and flowers with the nice nurses at reception at the eating disorder center. I can’t really blame her for not wanting to see us; after all, how could we have let it get this far?
Step 1 - write character snippets. Um, I only did this for the girl who gets the eating disorder, writing about a few facets of her physical appearance in minute detail. (Type of jeans she wears, her hair, and her walk.) The main character, the person who's telling the story...I guess I want less of the focus to be on her, at least in appearance, because she's the eyes for the reader, wholly.
Step 2 - research. You've got to understand - I don't research. This isn't for any reason other than laziness, frankly. It's not that I think I always know enough to write about, it's just that, because I don't plan, I usually just sit down and write and hope it all works out. That means that, if there's ever anything I need specific details for, I tend to guess and/or glaze over them. I actually did research for this, and it helped because it gave me starting points for various snippets.
Step 3 - write. With no stopping, either. Just wrote without editing, so I have a really basic first draft. It's pretty much the length I want it to be - 800 words to be read aloud in five mintues? - but we'll see.
I'm posting this extremely rough, entirely unedited first draft here for posterity's sake, and also for your opinions, if you've got any. I'd really appreciate the feedback on this one. Especially if you have any personal experience in the area that you don't mind sharing with me, because, despite my research, this is a bit of a blind exercise for me. I'm still sort of feeling around things.
The first lunchtime Erin trades her homemade brownies for my celery, I don’t think anything of it. She flips her blonde curls off her shoulders and laughs a little ruefully when she tells me she’s trying to eat healthy. “Lose some of this, you know?” She pinches the skin at her stomach through her loose blouse and wrinkles her nose, and I throw a celery stick at her.
“Yeah, right. You lose those curves and I’ll force-feed you cake until you’re back where you should be. Too many stick insects in the world.”
Erin peels a green string off the celery with one messily-painted red fingernail. “Don’t worry, I’m just cutting back a little.” She grins at me and throws the brownies my way.
***
I hand Erin a take-away cup of coffee as I sit down next to her in English, first period, Monday morning. (It’s a cruel time for analysis.) “Oh, thanks,” she says, adamantly grateful, and I cast my eyes in her direction from where I’m slumped on my desk.
She has dark bags under her eyes, and I could be wrong, but it seems like her mess of curls is even more tangled and frazzled than usual. I’m about to ask about it, but then the teacher walks into the room. “Croissant in the bag,” I mumble to her, nudging the paper bag over with my foot.
She looks down as if she’s considering. “I think I’ll pass.”
***
“Hey, do you want to come out to dinner with James and me?” We’re sitting in my room, sprawled lazily across the floor as we flip through trashy magazines.
“Nah. I always feel like the third wheel when I’m with you two.”
I twist awkwardly to kick her. “Such bullshit,” I say, grinning. “We’re just friends and you know it. And we’re going to that really good Japanese place, you know, the one where we went for Katie’s birthday last year.”
“Yeah, I remember. I’ll let you kids have your fun, though.” She looks down at the magazine and flips another page without reading.
I stop and sit up a little. She’s staring intently at the magazine now, a page on celebrity diets and effective body toning. “Dude, you love Japanese food! What, do you suddenly have something better going on?”
“I always have something better going on,” Erin says, sticking her tongue out at me, and all I can do is the same as I watch her tear the page out of the magazine, adding it to a pile of similar pages at her elbow.
***
Sometime mid-term it became a lunchtime ritual to ask Erin how many calories are in each of our lunches. “It’s kind of scary how good you are at that,” Katie says, giving Erin an appraising look, like calorie-counting is a skill she wishes she possessed. I watch Katie pick at her creamy pasta while she watches Erin spear a piece of lettuce from her small container of salad.
“What kind of dressing’s on that?” I ask Erin, hoping it sounds innocent enough.
Erin looks uncomfortable for a second, but then flashes a quick smile. “No dressing. It makes the salad get all soggy and gross.”
“I hear that,” Meghan puts in, picking at her own large container of soggy salad.
“How many calories in a balsamic dressing?” Katie asks, and Meghan glares at her half-heartedly.
“Around 90,” Erin responds immediately.
Katie’s right; it is scary how she can recall numbers like that.
***
Once or twice I feel like suggesting a new drinking game to the group - every time Erin says “Oh no, I had a big lunch” or “I’m just not hungry today,” everyone takes a shot. Except I don’t want Erin drinking on an empty stomach.
***
Erin changes into a little black dress before we go out to a party one Saturday, and I’m counting her ribs before I even realize what I’m doing. “Geez louise, you are getting skinny.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it, still staring at her back, the bones visible underneath her normally-tan skin. She seems almost translucent in this evening light, fragile.
If I wasn’t watching so closely, I might not notice how she stiffens a little at that, muscles suddenly taut. She lets out a gravelly chuckle and slides the dress on over her head. “Thanks,” she says finally, turning around to face me, and I don’t bother telling her it wasn’t meant to be a compliment.
***
I haven’t been in to see Erin’s room at the hospital yet, so I’m leaving all the cards and flowers with the nice nurses at reception at the eating disorder center. I can’t really blame her for not wanting to see us; after all, how could we have let it get this far?